‘Find out the conditions of his release. Have you got the CCTV footage for the Paradise Estate?’
‘What there is, yes.’
So DCS Adams hadn’t been interested in that. Horton told Walters to take a look through it and the CCTV footage that DS Reynolds had sent over from Fareham for sightings of Langham’s van.
‘Is Cantelli back?’
‘Just.
‘Put him on.’
The boat rocked as a ferry made its way into dock. Horton felt cold and damp.
‘There’s no sign of Westerbrook’s boat coming into the channel on the army’s CCTV footage,’ Cantelli reported. ‘And nothing around that area while he was moored up there until Dowdswell shows up before reporting it.’
So the cameras had missed him. ‘Not good for security,’ Horton voiced.
‘I was assured they would have picked up anyone attempting to land or who posed a threat.’
‘Yeah?’
‘So they said.’
Horton brought Cantelli up to speed with the news of Borland’s death and that he believed Langham had been robbing houses in the area three days before the fire. He hoped the fingerprint team would be able to confirm that soon. He asked Cantelli to assist Walters and warned him that they might be called in tomorrow, Sunday, to help with the Borland investigation, something he hadn’t told Walters. Cantelli could break the news to him.
Horton turned to the helm and extracting the boat keys from the evidence bag he’d brought with him he inserted one in the ignition. He focused his attention on the instrumentation. Studying it he saw that Westerbrook had set the log and the GPS on Wednesday morning when he had gone fishing with Nugent. The GPS had taken them to the area where Elkins had said they’d fished and where they said they’d found Langham’s hand. The log also tallied with them returning to Oyster Quays. After that, according to the log, Westerbrook, or rather his boat, was still at Oyster Quays. He hadn’t reset the log after leaving Oyster Quays last Wednesday so there was no record of knowing how many nautical miles he had travelled before reaching his final destination in the Thorney Channel. And neither had he set a course for Thorney Island or anywhere else using his GPS after that ill-fated fishing trip. He might have kept a manual log but neither he nor Elkins had found it when they had looked earlier. So wherever Westerbrook had travelled before ending up at Thorney, if anywhere, he hadn’t wanted any record of it.
Horton turned his attention to past trips plotted into the GPS. There were several dating back two months, two to France and many out in the Solent. He’d also fished off Sandown Bay on the Isle of Wight, and on the eastern side of the island not far from Ventnor, and off Selsey where he’d been with Nugent, and along Hayling Bay. Horton returned the keys to the evidence bag. His eyes swept the deck before climbing off the boat, his mind turning over what he could see here and what both Davidson and Walters had told him about Westerbrook’s gambling habits. His phone rang just as he was about to climb on the Harley. Eagerly he answered it seeing it was Jane from the fingerprint team.
‘We have a match on the fingerprints from two of those robberies in Fareham. Just as you said, Inspector, they’re Graham Langham’s.’
Horton thanked her warmly and hurried back to the station. It was a long time since he’d last eaten, breakfast in fact, but he didn’t stop to grab a sandwich, he made for the incident suite. It wasn’t fully mobilized yet. Horton knew they were waiting for Gaye’s report. He glanced at the clock, the earliest they could expect anything would be in about an hour’s time. Tomorrow the investigation would step up a few gears but the death having occurred four days ago meant the trail was already cool if not cold. And Sunday was not the best day to get any progress on an investigation, although the house-to-house might give them more occupants than they’d find during the week.
Horton put the files he’d taken from Borland’s house in front of Trueman. Uckfield, looking up from his desk, saw him and left his office. Trueman confirmed that Marsden was overseeing a house-to-house and Dennings was still at the scene. Trueman had already placed the photographs taken after the fire and those taken by Clarke in the last couple of hours on the crime board.
‘I take it the fire victim is Leonard Borland?’ Horton said, studying them.
‘Yes. Although a formal ID and fingerprints are impossible given the fire, his dental records were accessed shortly after he was taken to the mortuary and they matched. I ran Borland’s details through the computer. He had no convictions.’
Horton hadn’t expected him to have any. He relayed the news about Langham’s prints being found at two of the properties that were robbed on Saturday night. ‘We also have a witness who says Leonard Borland was alive and well on Monday morning.’
‘And so was Langham according to his missis,’ rejoined Uckfield. ‘He could have returned to Borland’s house Monday evening, killed him, stolen from him and then taken off.’
‘Where?’
‘How the hell do I know?’ Uckfield said grumpily. ‘But whoever he went with chopped his ruddy hand off and probably threw the rest of him to the fish.’
‘But he couldn’t have set the fire on Tuesday evening because he didn’t return home Monday night or Tuesday.’
‘Moira could be lying.’
That was possible. Horton said, ‘Langham was alive on Sunday night. I have a sighting of him in The Crown, trying to flog some of the stolen goods.’
‘Who says?’
‘A reliable source.’
Uckfield scoffed but didn’t press him.
Horton asked if his team was needed tomorrow to assist with the Borland investigation. There was a chance that Uckfield would want them on the house-to-house or in the mobile incident suite but Uckfield said he was using officers from Fareham. He stomped off to his office where Horton saw him lift the phone, no doubt to update DCS Adams about Graham Langham’s illegal activities, but whether Uckfield would tell Adams about the fire and Borland’s death, Horton didn’t know. He hadn’t told him that Cantelli and Walters were looking through the CCTV tapes from the Paradise Estate. If they found something then he would.
They’d found nothing but Walters had checked on Westerbrook’s prison record. ‘The condition of his release was that he attend Gamblers Anonymous. I haven’t checked whether he did, his offender manager can confirm that. He’d have been on probation for a year after his release.’
‘Call the probation service on Monday. And do the rounds of the bookies close to where both Westerbrook and Langham lived. Show their photographs around. Find out if they’ve been in, when and how frequently. You might as well both get off home, there’s nothing much more can be done tonight and Uckfield doesn’t need us tomorrow.’
Horton was pleased for Cantelli, who would get to spend the day with his family. He didn’t know how Walters spent his Sundays when not working and he didn’t bother to ask. Neither did he know what Bliss did with herself during her spare time, when she wasn’t studying for her next promotion exam. He didn’t even know if she had a partner. She’d never mentioned anyone with the exception of a woman called Eunice Swallows, who ran a private investigation agency, and Horton knew from a case in October, which had brought him into contact with the formidable Ms Swallows, that she and Bliss had dined out together. And talking of dinner he reached for his mobile phone and called Carolyn. She answered almost immediately.
‘I might not be able to make tonight,’ he said, the memory of her kissing that man swimming before his eyes. ‘Something’s come up at work.’
There was a moment’s silence. Was she thinking he was giving her the elbow?
‘That’s a shame,’ she answered lightly, but Horton thought he detected a hint of disappointment in her voice. Perhaps he only hoped there was. She said, ‘I can turn dinner into supper. You might be ravenous by the time you finish work.’
He was now.
‘And if you can’t make supper then come for a drink or just turn up when you can. It doesn’t matter how
late.’ She left a pause before adding. ‘They must let you home at some time.’
‘Thanks.’ She was very keen to see him. He should be flattered and he would have been if he hadn’t witnessed her with that man. Maybe he’d ask her about him and get her reaction. It would be interesting to see.
It was six forty-five. Horton rose and peered out of his window. Uckfield, Dennings and Trueman’s cars were all still there. He had another two hours to kill. And a stomach to feed as he was going to skip Carolyn’s dinner and supper. He made for the canteen and bought cottage pie, vegetables, chips, and a large mug of black coffee and found a vacant table. He’d barely begun to eat though when Uckfield entered carrying a piece of paper. The Super made straight for his table nodding at a blonde woman in her early thirties behind the counter. Horton saw her smile and nod back. Uckfield’s latest conquest, wondered Horton, shovelling in a forkful of chips.
Uckfield plonked himself down opposite. ‘Got the results of the autopsy.’ He didn’t ask if it would put Horton off his food, Uckfield wasn’t that sensitive. But before Uckfield could begin the blonde woman, who Horton knew as Alison, put a large cup of coffee and bacon sandwich in front of Uckfield. She’d only been working there three weeks.
‘Thanks, love.’
She beamed at Uckfield before walking off. Nice figure beneath that tight, short overall. Good legs. Uckfield’s type but then most women with make-up and a good figure under forty were. The fact that Uckfield was married to the former chief constable’s daughter and had two daughters didn’t stop him.
Uckfield slurped his coffee before reading from the paper in front of him.
‘Soot deposits below the level of the larynx indicate Leonard Borland was alive when the fire started. There is also evidence of soot in the oesophagus and the stomach, and carbon monoxide in the blood.’ Uckfield picked up his bacon sandwich but didn’t bite into it. ‘The cause of death is as a result of the fire but he was struck several times beforehand with a heavy round-shaped implement, possibly a club or a heavy duty torch, and with considerable force. The victim is six foot one …’ Uckfield took a bite.
With his mouth full, he continued. ‘Dr Clayton says the assailant could have been as tall or taller than Borland but judging by the angle of the blows she believes the victim was struck while he was leaning over—’
‘To consult his notes, photographs or computer,’ interjected Horton, eating his meal, adding, ‘none of which were found in that room.’
Uckfield nodded, and chewing, said, ‘The pattern of burns on the body confirm he was dragged and positioned over the fire.’
‘Bastard,’ Horton said softly.
‘Not Langham,’ said Uckfield with conviction.
‘No,’ Horton concurred, they both knew he wasn’t capable of that. He pushed away his empty plate and took a swig of coffee. ‘But it could be the same person who chopped off his hand. What does Adams have to say about it?’
Uckfield mopped up some sauce on his plate and pushed the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before answering. ‘Never heard of Borland, doesn’t figure in his investigation and the fact that Langham was in the area thieving on Saturday night has no bearing whatsoever on their investigation. I asked who Langham was supposed to have been informing on but Adams went all tight-lipped and prissy-arsed. I don’t think he’s got a bloody clue what’s going on.’ Uckfield sat back. ‘Come to that neither have I.’
‘Westerbrook’s boat is moored opposite Borland’s house and he found Langham’s hand.’
‘Coincidence.’
‘You believe that about as much as I do.’
Uckfield sat forward. ‘Yeah, OK then, what is going on?’
‘That’s what we need to find out but somehow I can’t help thinking that all three, Westerbrook, Langham and Borland, are connected. We might not be able to investigate Langham but we can certainly investigate Borland’s death and try and discover why Westerbrook’s body was bruised and why he was beaten up before suffering a heart attack.’
Uckfield sniffed loudly.
Horton continued. ‘Westerbrook was a heavy gambler and a former crook. Walters has discovered he gambled away at least fifteen thousand pounds in the last year and he has a boat and a car both paid for in cash, so where did he get the money? He has no relatives to leave him any, and no job and although he might have won large sums gambling he’s lost even more. So who is financing him and why?’
Uckfield frowned and looked thoughtful. ‘Someone he met while serving time in prison?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I’ll get Trueman looking into that. I’ll also get the hi-tech unit working on Westerbrook’s computer and a team going over his boat, car and flat.’
Horton told Uckfield that Cantelli had an appointment with Westerbrook’s bank on Monday and that Walters was going to do the rounds of the bookmakers. Horton glanced at his watch. ‘I’m going to talk to Larry Egmont. I want to know if Westerbrook was a member of his casino.’
‘You think Egmont might be behind this?’
Horton shrugged. There was nothing on Egmont. He’d never been implicated or suspected in anything illegal but, the only son of a shipwright and laundress, he was known to be tough and the men he employed tougher. He’d married George Warner’s only child, his daughter, and had taken the betting business to new heights. He was an astute businessman and was rumoured never to miss a Saturday night in his Portsmouth casino, unless he was on holiday. He was also extremely clever and shrewd, which meant he was cunning enough not to have been caught.
Uckfield hauled himself up. ‘I’ll keep Dennings working on the Borland murder investigation. The mobile incident unit will be in situ on the green in front of Borland’s house tomorrow morning. Marsden will oversee that. His team have so far drawn a blank on the house-to-house.’
Horton rose and picked up his tray.
Uckfield continued, ‘We’ll get a list of berth holders and run them through the computer.’
Falling into step beside Uckfield, Horton said, ‘I’ll talk to Aubrey Davidson. The marina manager says he saw Borland talking to Davidson in the car park a week or so ago but he couldn’t remember exactly when. Davidson might throw some light on what Borland was interested in, but whatever it was I don’t think it was birdwatching, the feathered variety that is,’ Horton added as Uckfield flashed a smile at Alison behind the counter.
‘Do you think Borland was observing Westerbrook?’
‘It’s a theory, but if he was, what could he have seen that could have aroused his suspicions? Westerbrook was just a man taking out fishing rods, beer and a bait box and bringing back fish.’
‘Maybe that wasn’t all he was bringing back.’
Horton thought the same but they both knew that if it was drugs then Borland would never have spotted it. The drugs would have been concealed in either the bait box, a cool bag or inside the fishing rods. But it could have been a more visible cargo and Horton said as much to Uckfield.
‘Illegal immigrants you mean,’ Uckfield said, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Or girls for sex trafficking. And both would fall under the remit of DCS Adams.’
‘Yeah, but he doesn’t know about it otherwise he’d have had us out of the area and off the investigation quicker than a rat up a drainpipe.’
‘Perhaps Larry Egmont is too clever for him.’
‘Perhaps he’s not involved and Borland was beaten about the head and killed by some lowlife con man.’
Horton would see what Egmont had to say for himself. He just hoped that Egmont was still a creature of habit and that he’d find him at the casino.
FIFTEEN
Horton showed his warrant card to the glamorous blonde receptionist who said she would inquire if Mr Egmont was available. Horton had been pleased to see Egmont’s Bentley Continental parked in its space at the rear. She disappeared through a door to the right marked ‘Private’, leaving Horton to gaze around the plush deep re
d and gold vestibule of the casino.
It had been about three years since he’d last interviewed Egmont here. Then it had been in connection with a robbery on one of his female clients as she’d left the casino. Since then the place had been refurbished. The cloakroom was on his left, the reception desk to his right and ahead in front of the obscure glass double doors with shiny brass handles that led into the casino was a wide man dressed in evening attire with a radio mic plugged in his ear and a steely suspicious eye plugged on Horton.
Horton returned the stare with equanimity before turning his attention to the framed photographs, which hadn’t been here before. They were of the casinos that Egmont owned along the South Coast and of his staff. Horton scanned them idly noting the staff shots went back to 1961 and the first casino opposite the pier in Southsea. Then there was a jump to 1965, 1968, 1972, 1975 and 1978. Horton froze and stared at the last picture, but a voice hailed him and he turned to see the receptionist, who was asking him to follow her. He did so, a little reluctantly, while his thoughts stayed with that photograph. He’d barely had time to register the group of people – gaming managers, croupiers and staff – smiling into camera, but he’d certainly registered the year. Was his mother one of those smiling people? She’d been employed as casual labour, which meant she was unlikely to be in a staff photograph, but even if she wasn’t in that picture could she possibly be in other photographs taken at the time?
He shelved the thought as he followed the receptionist’s shapely body and long legs down a corridor, up thickly carpeted stairs and along another corridor until she halted outside a door at the far end overlooking the rear of the building. All was deathly silent. Horton noted, with approval, the security cameras on the ceilings. This place carried a lot of money and was a target for thieves, except that Egmont would probably have his boys cut off their hands if he caught them. But Langham would never have dared to rob here. And he’d never have got beyond the front or rear door, both of which were heavily alarmed.
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